A Light in the Dark
by snugglejong
Summary: Caitrin had been surrounded by murder for nearly her whole life. Plagued with schizophrenia from a young age, the images she was engulfed in for so long left her cold and alone. But when an elderly man whisked her away to a special orphanage in England, she grew to be happy in her fairy tale land. But fairy tales are only fiction, and happiness, Caitrin found, comes with a price.
1. Chapter 1: A Girl Named C

This was formerly known as "Smart, Funny, and Slightly Insane" and was, unfortunately, complete shit. So, I've finally gotten around to re-working it, and I hope it's improved quite a bit. Feedback is always welcome and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own the rights to Death Note or else most of the events in this fanfiction would be canon.

* * *

Chapter One: The Girl Named C

"'Based on two established psychiatric rating systems, the 30 - item Positive and Negative Syndrome Scale (PANSS), was conceived as an operationalized, drug-sensitive instrument that provides balanced representation of positive and negative symptoms [of schizophrenia] and gauges their relationship to one another and to global psychopathology,'" Caitrin mumbled to herself as she became familiarized with the abstract of the essay she now read. It was old; old enough at least to be read from the public records, but it still put forth some remarkable information. "'Review of five studies involving the PANSS provided evidence of its criterion - related validity with antecedent, genealogical, and concurrent measures, its predictive validity, its drug sensitivity, and its utility for both typological and dimensional assessment.' That's interesting."

It really was.

Being ten years old, it was difficult for Caitrin to reach a completely accurate diagnosis, but she felt in her gut that she was right – that she was schizophrenic. She read nearly as many scholarly articles as she did fiction and was confident enough in her skills to decide that her brain was, as the articles often put it, _imbalanced._

Sighing, Caitrin gave up on reading for the day. She closed the paper and, her fiery locks bouncing behind her, turned to place it back on top of the stack of books that sat on one of many library desks. She then hoisted up the stack that sat next to the previous one (this one being comprised of books of a lighter sort, as Caitrin did, admittedly, prefer the likes of _Peter Pan_ and _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ over the cold words of aspiring psychology majors), and walked merrily to the desk of the librarian.

"Come again soon!" said the kind woman behind the desk as Caitrin hauled her charge to the exit.

"I always do!" Caitrin replied, her voice carrying the odd, not-really-visible-but-still-surely-there sound of a smile as it left her lips.

She walked the four-and-a-half blocks from the city library to her apartment complex in subdued happiness. She was, of course, elated to have a couple weeks' worth of reading with her. But her happiness felt stunted, shadowed by the ever-growing sight of her home. Her parents, you see, were of an unfortunate brand, drunken would-be socialites with wallets that weren't fit for the life they dreamed of.

And, obviously, having a self-diagnosed schizophrenic daughter didn't help much when it came to improving their outlook on life.

Still, Caitrin did her best to stay optimistic, her cyan eyes scanning the faces she past and then gazing at the overcast New York sky that she walked under. She arrived at the complex and, upon entering her third floor apartment, scuffled past her oblivious parents into her room, where she planned to spend the night reading out of a battered copy of _Winnie the Pooh_.

Unfortunately, her night did not go according to plan.

It was around midnight when she began to hear a susurrus from the living room. Her mother's squawking voice was elevated far more than usual (she preferred to dawn a softer voice most of the time, so as not to alarm the neighbors) as she and Caitrin's father battled it out. Distracted from her reading, Caitrin closed her book and, walking across her small room, pressed her ear to her door.

"She isn't normal," Caitrin's dad's voice bellowed, "it's all your fault!"

"How the hell is it my fault?" she screamed back, "You're the one who got me pregnant in the first place!"

"Well, that was a mistake!" he said stupidly.

"You're the mistake!" she replied.

Caitrin huffed, sliding down to the floor with her back pressed to the door. Sometimes it felt as though they were the children of the family, not her. Still, she felt the need to stay there, pressed against the door, hoping as she listened, that the fighting would die out soon.

It didn't, however. Caitrin heard a harsh slap resound from her living room and was almost tempted to go outside and look. But she was too afraid, as she knew very well that her parents may just as quickly turn their violence on her.

She heard a muffled version of the ensuing events: her mother's knees hitting the floor as she cupped her reddening cheek in pain; her father sending a swift kick to the side of her small body; heavy feet hurrying to a nearby room and then returning; a muffled scream as Caitrin's father firmly pressed his hand over her mouth; the sound of dragging and resisting as her father pulled her mother to a more desirable section of the room; a gunshot.

Caitrin started. She didn't know what to do despite rifling through the narratives she'd read involving such violence. She was frozen to the spot, her eyes wide in fear for her safety. She was quite certain that her mother was dead, but in truth, that didn't concern her all too much. She lifted a shaking hand and quietly turned the lock on her bedroom door.

That proved to be unnecessary, however, as she soon heard the dragging of a chair, a rumbling cry, and the moaning of a wooden beam as substantial weight was suddenly put upon it. She heard wheezing, choking, a sob, and then silence.

Several minutes passed but Caitrin was still shaken to her bones. Unwilling to go out and look, she stood and, gathering her wits, walked hastily to her bedside table, where a phone idly sat.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" a soothing voice asked as she dialed and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hi," Caitrin replied, her voice surprisingly level, "I'd like to report a murder-suicide."

* * *

Caitrin rather detested the orphanages in and around New York City. They were stuffy, often overpopulated, and the children there were either silent and smelling of sewer or infuriatingly loud and rambunctious. Determined not to fall into these crowds, Caitrin migrated between several orphanages for nearly three years following the death of her parents. She took little with her, a few books and clothes, as well as one other, somewhat peculiar, trinket. A small statuette of a grotesque lion, with a green tinted, scar-ridden face which she kept in the pocket of her jacket at all times. She didn't know where she got the figurine from, as it seemed to have simply always been there. Still, she felt not only an attachment to it, but a sort of companionship, and resolved to keep it with her forever.

She was, in all the orphanages she was moved to, a voluntary outcast. She spent nearly all her time separated from the other children, willing away her days and trying desperately to find a respite from her boredom.

That respite came, rather unexpectedly, in the form of an elderly man from England. Clad in a black overcoat and a fedora (tilted so that his kind, blue eyes could just barely be seen), and sporting grey-white facial hair, the man was fond of Caitrin from the very beginning, and was more than happy to display his affection toward her openly.

"You have gorgeous handwriting, Katherine," (Katherine was the alias Caitrin gave to all the institutions she resided in. She couldn't quite place where the desire for anonymity came from, but she indulged it nonetheless) the man told her, a small smile appearing beneath his bushy moustache as he watched her loopy scrawl.

"Thank you, Mister," she replied, gazing at her script and wondering if the man was honest or merely wanted to get on her good side.

The pair continued their quiet companionship for the majority of the day, occasionally erupting into short conversations. Mostly, though, the man silently watched Caitrin go about her day as she ate, read, and studied.

This final activity seemed to garner the man's attention more than anything, which inadvertently piqued Caitrin's attention as well.

"That's quite advanced work for a thirteen-year-old," he observed, analyzing the complex equations that littered one of Caitrin's notebooks.

"I guess," she said, setting up a formula for the problem, "it's good for passing the time."

"Passing the time," he mused, "until when?"

Caitrin stopped, setting her pencil down gently. She stared at the page in a way that made it seem as though nothing was actually there.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I suppose I have to leave this place eventually, but I don't have any plans."

She looked up at the man, only to find him smiling down at her, his eyes closed and crinkled delightfully.

"Well," he said, "what if I told you I had a plan for you?"

* * *

Winchester, England had a way of making Caitrin feel as though she'd stepped through time. Settled along the southern border of England, it was riddled with canals and other waterways and because of that, was in a constant state of movement. The sky was clear and the air smelled of fresh flowers and sea salt. The buildings were packed tightly together, styled to look like cottages. Cafés and small shopping centers dotted the streets, with people jetting back and forth between destinations throughout the day. She constantly found herself getting caught up in all the life that was being lived around her as she watched from the back seat of a blacked-out car.

"Why are we here, Mister?" she asked, her voice small and full of wonder.

"This is where you're going to live from now on," he replied, as though it were obvious. "Well," he added, "not here per say. Our place is in the countryside, but of course, you're more than welcome to visit the city as you please."

Caitrin let out a small, "Wow," as she saw the city whiz by. They soon burst forth from the city limits, crawling along into the vast fields and forests of England. Miles past along with the hours of the day, and Caitrin suddenly found herself being gently shaken out of a sleep she didn't realize she'd fallen into.

"Are you ready?" the man asked.

Dazed, Caitrin looked about her. A trail of trees created a tunnel through which a dirt road led to an iron gate. Looking through the gate, Caitrin saw dozens of children running about a courtyard, some playing in the same manner as the children in New York, others reading and doing all the same things Caitrin had done. Behind all the children towered a massive brick housing complex and several adjoining buildings. Hanging above the main doors to the building hung a glistening sign, imprinted with the words: _Wammy's House for Gifted Children_.

Frowning, Caitrin turned back to the man.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice sounding pained.

The man seemed taken aback, bending down slightly to be eye-level with Caitrin.

"Do you not like it?" he asked, his hands gently taking hold of Caitrin's shoulders.

"I just," she started, "…I'm confused. Why did you bring me here?"

The man suddenly smiled. One of his hands fell down her arm to grasp her hand.

"I brought you here to my house because of that sign," he pointed to the sign and Caitrin followed his gaze. "_Wammy's House for Gifted Children_. I am Wammy. And you," he turned back to her, still beaming, "are gifted."

Caitrin couldn't resist the smile that appeared on her face. She ran back down the dirt road to Wammy's car, grabbed her single suitcase from the trunk, ran back, and started shaking the bars of the gate impatiently.

Wammy laughed at her sudden enthusiasm.

"Before we go in, I have to ask you," Caitrin turned to face Wammy as he spoke, "how do you feel about being called 'C' from now on?"

Caitrin paused, pondering the monomer. After a while, she smiled at him.

"I like it!" she said. "It's spunky, but not obnoxious, and it's a pretty enough letter, so I'm good with 'C'."

"Glad to hear it!" Wammy replied and, without another word, pushed the gate open.

* * *

The letter L was one of the first things she heard upon entering Wammy's. Caitrin assumed that was the alias of another gifted child and for moment she pondered why there were more than twenty-six children residing at Wammy's if all their names were alphabetized, which spiraled into multiple inquisitions as to how many languages were spoken at Wammy and how many children were named in cuneiform (a conversation which quickly dissolved into laughter from Wammy and disgruntled sighing from Caitrin). Still, she was curious as to the popularity of this apparently extra-gifted child.

"L is the greatest success story Wammy's House has to offer," Wammy said, his voice nearly trembling with pride. Suddenly, he said, "Oh! And if I'm not mistaken, the two of you are just about the same age. Most of the kids here tend to stay away from him, so maybe you could be friends with him? He would never admit it, but he gets lonely just like anyone else."

"So he's your favorite child?" Caitrin asked.

Wammy started.

"Of course not!" he deflected.

Caitrin smiled knowingly, listening to Wammy stutter.

"I don't have any favorites," he said, "but I'll admit that I've taken a special interest in him. Not only is he the House's most brilliant child, but his psychology is utterly fascinating. You like psychology don't you, C? I saw you had quite a little library in your suitcase."

"You're changing the subject," Caitrin pointed out. "But yeah, I really like psychology. Can I learn more about it here?"

"Absolutely. Wammy's will give you whatever you need, C," he said confidently, "you don't have to worry."

Wammy helped her settle into her dorm and told her he'd meet her for dinner to figure out her classes and other scheduling. After he left, Caitrin was by herself, standing in the middle of her bedroom, her suitcase lying next to her, and tears falling from her eyes. Her journey from New York to Winchester was exhausting but despite that, she was overjoyed, so much so that she didn't know how to express it. She wanted to jump around her room just as much as she wanted to fall onto her bed and sleep for a week; she wanted to sing and dance and unpack and meet the other kids, especially L. But she knew that she couldn't yet, and her excitement channeled itself regretfully into her tear ducts.

Wiping at her face, Caitrin thought, 'Don't cry, stupid!' but that served only to make her laugh and cry all the more.

She struggled to believe that this was real, that this was her life. It seemed far too much like the fairy tales she'd read, and she dreaded waking up to realize that she'd been dreaming.

But she never did. She created a school schedule with Wammy over the most delicious dinner she'd had in three years that night. She slept in a bed that was as soft as cotton candy and woke up to spend the following day racing around one of Wammy's courtyards, easily befriended the other children.

The ensuing weeks, months, years were blissful beyond compare as she grew up in Wammy's. But none of those moments were as precious as the day she met her two best friends: L and B.

It was a little over a year since she'd arrived when Caitrin met them. She in the library researching for a paper on the fallacies of Social Darwinism when she heard a most peculiar fight break out behind her.

It was hushed so as not to upset the librarians and one of the fighters seemed completely disinterested, though the other contender was passionate enough for the two of them. Caitrin turned around, ready to shush them, when she was suddenly, unwittingly thrown into their conversation.

"Hey, you!" one of them said (Caitrin had a hard time distinguishing between the two of them, as they looked very similar in build and the one who had addressed her had done up his hair and put on makeup to look nearly identical to the first boy). "Wasn't the PANSS created primarily to gauge schizophrenic symptoms' relationship to global psychopathology?"

Caitrin's mind leaped back to her final trip to the library back in New York. Images of her apartment stained her mind's eye in red but, looking past it, she saw the essay she'd read just an hour before.

"No," she said slowly, looking directly into his manic eyes. "Judging global psychopathology was one of its goals, but its main purpose was to give users a balanced representation of the symptoms of schizophrenia, both positive and negative."

The desperate arguer stood aghast, unable to say anything but instead stuttering unintelligibly.

"That's what I've been trying to tell him," a soft, level voice emanated from the other boy.

Caitrin wondered briefly why the now fuming, incorrect boy was copying his looks, but gave up trying to piece together the puzzle when the original-looking boy shot her a small smile. It didn't reach his eyes, and it looked as though the strain of smiling exhausted him, but Caitrin liked it nonetheless.

She smiled back and said, "Well, it's an easy mistake to make, no doubt. And it depends a lot on what angle you're looking at it from – psychological or sociological. Still, it's not really something worth fighting over."

The second boy suddenly regained his voice. "Then I _am_ right! L and I were just looking at it from different angles, I'm not wrong!"

L went on to point out that PANSS was created by a psychologist, making its desired angle clear, but Caitrin wasn't listening.

_L_, she thought, amazed. _He's L? But he doesn't look like much…_

"Are you really L?" she asked him.

The boys' conversation ceased suddenly. The copycat boy groaned.

"Oh, God, not another stupid fangirl," he said.

Caitrin glared, but ignored him.

"I only ask because Wammy always talks about you like you're the apple of his eye. I mean, I love Wammy, but he's like a broken record sometimes."

L's smile grew more genuine at the mention of his elder.

"I didn't realize he spoke to other children about me," he said.

"I don't think he does it often," she replied. "He said, if I remember, that you were the type of person I'd find interesting," she jumped up to sit on the library table, the two boys settling down in chairs before her, "or that you were intellectually stimulating, or something. I don't know. You don't seem all that weird to me, though."

L looked at her oddly, his face blank, his head turned slightly to the side.

"Not that weird," the other boy, who identified himself as B, said, "he's the biggest freak in this place!"

"Says the boy who's wearing makeup in order to impersonate him," Caitrin replied.

Caitrin thought for a moment that she heard a snort from L, but when she looked his face remained void of emotion. B was blushing, incredulous, and swung a light kick at Caitrin's shin.

"Hey!" she yelled and, ignoring the shush from the librarian, returned a kick.

B looked up at her, kicking her again. L watched in silence as B and Caitrin continued kicking one another before slowly dissolving into laughter.

"You kick too hard," B said, huffing.

"What were you expecting?" Caitrin replied.

They continued speaking comfortably, their friction forgotten. L marveled for a moment at how easy it seemed to be for the two of them to become friends. Finally, he turned to Caitrin.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

Caitrin turned from B and faced L, the sound of laughter still lilting her words.

"I'm C!" she told him.

"And what does that stand for?" B asked. "Catherine? Caitlin? Catherina?"

Caitrin turned to B and stuck her tongue out defiantly.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she said sardonically.

L, Caitrin was sure of it, chuckled.

* * *

B left Wammy's when he was sixteen years old. In those two years since his meeting with Caitrin, they had grown to be best friends and, when it suited them, lovers. But B was never really interested in any of that. Actually, he wasn't really interested in her at all, save for her psychological prowess. In any case, he left and fled to Los Angeles, where he began to plot and plan L's (who had in truth, always been his enemy rather than his friend) downfall.

Caitrin didn't leave Wammy's until a year later, when she was seventeen. Her attachment to B was one she couldn't help but feel bitter about, but she wasn't one to deny herself a chance at happiness. And if B wasn't a chance at happiness, he was at least a chance at solace, which was close enough for her. She did all she could to cut ties with L, though leaving was still hard. She flew to Los Angeles and did her best to track down B.

Eventually, she found him borrowing in a ratty motel, an indescribable change having altered him permanently, transforming him into a psychotic, bitter man. Try as she might, he wasn't her B anymore. Still, she stayed with him, moving them to a nice apartment downtown and praying that he would mellow out.

He didn't.

Despite three years of heartbreaking attempts to bring back her B, he was gone. He spent hours every day terrifying Caitrin, be it by practicing his "evil laugh" or hiding from her, plotting and planning for some dark, unforeseeable future.

Thus began the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases. A string of murders took place across Hollywood and the greater Los Angeles murders during the fall of Caitrin's twenty-first year. She knew then exactly what was happening, and though she was disturbed and frightened, she was still attached, albeit regretfully, to B. She sewed by hand the Wara Ningyo dolls which B tacked to the walls of his victims' homes. She even went as far as coming with him to one of the crimes scenes (after the fact, as she couldn't stomach the idea of being present while B skillfully carried out his "experiments") to help him sanitize the area. She knew her work was just as illegal as B's, but she carried in her heart an unspoken vow to stay by his side.

"Remember not to get your ring messy," B told her while they wiped down the light bulb sockets of the unfortunate first victims' condominium.

Caitrin gazed, her eyes blank, at the plain gold band that sat upon the ring finger of her left hand. They weren't married, or even engaged, at least not officially. But B had seen that she was straying and, finding that he needed her with him in order to maintain some sense of sanity, gave it to her to try and coerce her into staying. Pathetically, she accepted the gift.

"I won't get it messy," she said, her voice a happy chirp so as not to give away her true emotions.

B very suddenly let out a little shriek, staring out the window at the front lawn. Caitrin stared at him, watching his mouth slowly curl into a sadistic smile.

"I'll be upstairs under the bed," he told her. "Don't give me away!"

He fled up the stairs without another word. Caitrin, taken by surprise, listened as keys began to rattle outside the front door. She reached into her pocket and, retrieving her fake detective badge, stood facing the now opening door.

"Hi," she said, greeting the now spooked real-detective Naomi Misora, "I'm Katherine."

Naomi Misora, needless to say, was not happy. It was only after barking at her for explanation, identification, and motive that she began to calm down. Caitrin took this opportunity to swoop in, working to befriend her and, she hoped, to throw off any suspicion. That, however, didn't quite work out after Naomi, a brilliant Japanese-American F.B.I. agent, found B ("M-m-my partner," Caitrin blurted out desperately) skulking beneath the victim's bed.

Just barely being able to placate Naomi's disbelief, the trio spent the rest of the day working in uncomfortable companionship. B skillfully led Naomi to the clue he'd hid back when he committed the crime and, their job done, they left the house. Caitrin obtained Naomi's contact information and they agreed unenthusiastically, to work together.

Caitrin wished it had been that simple. But later that night (at about three in the morning, to be exact, when Caitrin was finally able to get some alone time from B), she received a very distressing message on her laptop.

"You don't look anything like a 'Katherine,' if I'm remembering you correctly," a scrambled voice spoke through her computer. "Which, by the way, I am."

"L," Caitrin whispered for the first time in four years. "What the hell…"

"Naomi Misora told me she met a Katherine and a Ryuzaki at the victim's house today," he cut her off. "You've gotten frightfully sloppy, C."

Caitrin let out a disgruntled sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was remarkable how much B had changed in four years compared to L, who sounded exactly the same. Despite the calm that came over her from hearing his (albeit scrambled) voice, she was annoyed by his sudden contact.

"What do you need, L?" she asked, her voice clipped.

"I suppose you want to skip the formalities, then," he replied conversationally, "very well. Are you familiar with the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases? Or the Wara Ningyo Murders, as they've been called before."

Fear pierced Caitrin's heart like a dagger. She should have known when he said he'd been in contact with Naomi that something was amiss.

"I'm aware of them," she quietly said.

"How aware are you?" he asked.

Caitrin paused, waiting for L's inevitable final blow.

"I believe – no, I know – that B is behind these murders. It's actually quite obvious."

"I," she started. Her heart was pounding, her palms sweating onto the computer's keyboard. Her eyes were shrouded in pain. She suddenly balled her hands into fists that shook before her in barely contained fear and anger.

"C," he said, and she could hear the concern despite the mask over his voice, "Judging from today, I'm guessing that you're helping him, at least with a part of the crimes."

"I haven't killed anyone," she whispered.

"I don't doubt that," he said. "Even if you wanted to, B would never let you. He's far too hands-on to let anyone assist him with something like murder."

Caitrin smiled bitterly.

"What I'm suggesting," he continued, "is that you're helping remove the evidence by wiping down all of the crime scenes as well as housing him somewhere safe."

As he spoke, Caitrin took several deep, slow breaths. She knew that L was trying to solve a crime, that he had severed all emotional connection to those involved once he signed on to the case. She knew he was being objective, and felt that she should be too.

"Is that you're calling me," she asked, "to arrest me?"

"…No, but you will have to pay in some way for helping him. I'm calling you because I need your help to bring B to justice."

"What if I say no?"

"Then you're under arrest."

Caitrin laughed. Glancing over to the door of B's bedroom, she let out a conflicted groan.

"I suppose I don't have much choice here," she said, finally looking down at her balled hands and pulling the ring off of her left hand.

"You really don't," L replied.

Caitrin stood and, still sighed in discontent, walked to the kitchen, where she dropped her ring down the drain of the sink.

Moving back to her laptop, she asked, "What do you need me to do?"

* * *

Caitrin met up with Naomi alone between their scheduled meetings at the three crime scenes. Still disguised, Caitrin aided in guiding the detective both toward B's arrest and toward Caitrin's own safety. Finally, on August twenty-second, Naomi managed to arrest B after his failed attempt at killing himself ("My final victim," he told Caitrin). She was never tried and instead testified against B prior to his conviction. She refused to meet face to face with L, though he tried several times to persuade her into a reunion. Afterwards, she seemed to drop off of the radar.

No one, not Wammy, L, nor any of her past companions from the House could find her, try as they might. She fled to Chicago and tried to start fresh, though the thought of B's escape and subsequent revenge ravaged her mind.

The clarity and solace that she had previously associated with her friends was gone. B was in an asylum, L was off travelling, solving cases around the world, and Caitrin was trapped in a prison of her own. A dingy apartment, stuffed with IKEA furniture, and a job at a small café was all she had left.

Well, that and her illness.

She had all but ceased using medication and her schizophrenia seemed to worsen by the day. She spent many a day holed up in her little home, trying desperately to escape the sights and sounds that were projected menacingly before her. But it was useless. They followed her wherever she went, be it to work or even just down to the apartment lobby to get her mail. They were everywhere, ghosts of not only her past but of her own twisted imagination. She wanted nothing more than to truly disappear, to wipe her own existence off of the earth. But for whatever reason, she never could, and that might just be the very reason why Kira fell.


	2. Chapter 2: A Simple Request

Wow, I'm really, really sorry it took me nearly a month to finish chapter two. I don't have any good excuses, and I'm sure you guys wouldn't be interested in them either way, so go forth and read!

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter 2: A Simple Request

Walking back from the metal box of mail slots, Caitrin slumped into the back corner of the apartment complex's only elevator. It was drab, but functional, and she rode it, shakily, up to the floor which housed her apartment.

She was beyond exhausted. Work was horrendously busy, making it so that Caitrin was forced to abandon her solitary office in exchange for waiting tables, which was a bundle of interactions she'd not wanted to have and faces she'd not wanted to see. Still, she was happy. Menial labor was, in a strange way, relaxing. The change of pace in her daily schedule was enough to put a smile on her face.

She moved around her quaint apartment, fixing herself a bowl of snacks and getting situated on her couch in front of her laptop. She stared momentarily at her reflection in the blank black screen, anticipating some shift in reality. But it didn't come. Her mirror-self smiled back at her slowly, with no distortions or malice to be seen. Caitrin let out a laugh, standing back up, striding up to her wall calendar, and with a fat sharpie smeared a single tick mark onto that day.

It was her first day in two hundred, seventy-three days without any hallucinations, and she was damn proud.

Still smirking, Caitrin turned back to her computer and, with a strange sort of zeal, tapped away into the internet aimlessly, her mind on a restful autopilot.

It didn't last long.

"_A string of murders in Japan has sparked the attention of investigative bureaus worldwide…_" an online newspaper reported, quickly snagging Caitrin's attention, "_Now that these murders are beginning to broaden, making their way onto the world stage, the ICPU plans to hold a meeting so as to develop a plan to bring whomever is doing this to justice._"

"What?" she asked herself, clicking wildly at her keyboard. She spent hours searching for more of this sudden phenomenon, until long after the sun had set. _Kira_ was who she eventually found, and she marveled at how long she must have gone without becoming aware of him.

"Kira," she muttered, "A Japanese killer turned worldwide tyrant. That sounds a lot like something he would look into."

"Mm, you called?" a voice suddenly erupted from her laptop's microphone.

Caitrin let out a piercing shriek, shoving the laptop off of her legs and onto the coffee table before her. Breathing heavily, she could hear his muffled laughter through that same voice scrambler she'd heard so many years ago and suddenly, she was furious.

"Have you been tapping my computer?" she asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said in his ever-sardonic tone, "Some of the students at Wammy's developed some software to make it easier to track one's I.P. address. You could go through seven different proxies and I'd still know exactly where you were and what you were doing instantaneously, so long as you have a computer or cell phone in use. It's not tapping, it's just making use of resources."

Caitrin, unamused, huffed. "That's an invasion of privacy, you have no right to do that."

"I'm aware of my action's moral fallacies, thank you," he replied quickly.

"Well, then," she said.

"Well, then," he copied.

The briefest, yet most stifling silence ensued. Neither of them wanted to speak first, to bridge the gap over such troubled waters. But, L told himself, this wasn't a matter of friendship. This was a matter of life or death.

"I need your help on a case," he said finally, his voice dropping several octaves in his apparent insecurity.

"What, the Kira Case?" she asked, trying to be all-business. "I don't think my skills are needed. He's been psychoanalyzed by all the great psychologists if what I'm reading in these articles is true."

"Kira has been studied extensively," he admitted, "but I feel as though I am missing something. And that something is the only way to beat him."

"And you believe I can get you that something?" she asked, her voice softer.

"I believe you are that something," he said.

His voice lacked any semblance of sincerity or even of pity, but Caitrin remembered that as being his style. She understood him, every little thing about him, even after four years of separation. He was like a photo album pulled out of an attic, rifled through for the first time in years yet still fresh, still bursting with memories and opportunity for the future.

Watching her laptop screen, now consumed by his familiar calligraphic calling card, she considered his request. Truth be told, he wasn't asking for much, but she was still hesitant.

"I'm not quite sure I should…" she began, only to be cut off.

"If at any time you feel as though you cannot continue working on the case, you are free to leave. However, I am not above blackmailing, if that's what it will take to bring you to Japan," he spurted out quickly.

"Blackmailing?" she asked incredulously.

"In my book, you are still an accomplice to the L.A.B.B. Murder Cases. Don't think I won't utilize that, _Katherine_."

Caitrin let out a quick gasp, which dissolved into a maddened groan. She thought back to her treachery – cleaning and housing B – and glared at her screen.

"I really hate you," she said flatly.

"That's understandable," L replied.

Caitrin paused, not knowing how to continue. She realized that L's 'promise' of her freedom was incredibly limited and even if she was free to abandon the case as she pleased, she was not free in her choice to go in the first place.

"I don't have any options here, huh?" she asked rhetorically.

"Watari will be there to pick you up in two days' time," he babbled on ignorantly. "I'll send you all of the information we have on the case thus far, through the old Network."

Sighing, but happy at the mention of one of their old communication formats, she said, "Alright, then. How many suspects are there, just so I can narrow down my research?"

"I'll speak to you upon your arrival," he said suddenly, curtly. He cut the connection.

Caitrin guffawed at his cold behavior, and then pulled her laptop close, typing in codes and running program after program until multiple files began to upload automatically onto her computer. After making sure they were safe and secure, she began preparing for her trip. She made a call to the restaurant she'd worked at and, though she had enjoyed working there, reveled in the ecstasy of quitting. She packed, alerted her landlord, and called the post office to forward her mail all within an hour of her discussion with L.

She didn't want to admit it, as the scars from their last meeting still felt raw, but she was excited to see him and Watari again. She was excited to have a case, to put her talent to work for the first time in years. She felt as though she was going home, despite the fact that she was going to a country she'd never before set foot in. There was a certain type of joy that she associated with her work, no matter what circumstances may have hindered her.

Of course, that made it quite difficult for her to occupy her time over the next two days. She had already packed what she could (which wasn't much, but she had a feeling she'd stock up on various goods upon coming to Japan) and planned everything out. What more was there to do?

Evidently, L had planned for this. Caitrin had committed to memorizing the files he sent over and, to her mixed feelings of joy and exasperation, he had sent over a lot. Entire biographies of various detectives lay before her, as well as information on a wide range of possible suspects, from a stay-at-home mother (the wife of the Chief of Police) to a high school senior.

Her days and nights were filled with these people, an endless stream of faces and dates of birth and occupations. Criminal backgrounds were minimal, but that came as no surprise to Caitrin, as she began to compile a profile for the would-be Kira.

She was confident in her knowledge of Kira's type. Intelligence was first and foremost, which helped a great deal in narrowing down her suspects. After that, she searched for apparent signs of both excellence on the community-wide level and for a certain gleam of rebellion. These two factors were harder to discern but she did it. Pulling away layer after layer, she worked tirelessly to cut the list down.

"Five beautiful contestants stand before me," she said in a mocking voice, "but only one can be Japan's Next Top Serial Killer."

Before she could continue, a gentle knock resounded from outside the door to her apartment.

Startled, Caitrin looked about her. "Has it been two days already?" she asked herself.

Apparently it had been, as Watari stood before her when she opened the door. Stretching and stifling a series of yawns, Caitrin looked at the elderly man for a few moments, taking him in, before rushing forward to catch him in a tight embrace. Chuckling, Watari wrapped his arms around her, patting her red locks.

"My dear," he greeted her when she finally released him from her hug.

"My dear," she repeated in an exaggerated English accent.

He let out a small laugh and then, making his way inside, looked about her barren apartment. "Are you all set to leave?" he asked.

"Yeah, just let me grab some stuff," she answered, walking over to organize the files she'd spread out across the coffee table. Once done, the pair hauled her scarce luggage out of the complex. Without a glance back, Caitrin sat in the back of a taxi, talking animatedly with Watari beside her.

"How has Chicago treated you?" he asked conversationally.

"It's very damp here," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Watari laughed. Continuing on, she said, "Still, I really liked it. It was a nice break from L.A."

Watari smiled at her knowingly, patting her knee in comfort. He continued asking her simple questions and they spoke happily all the way to the airport. The wait in the terminal and the ensuing flight was quieter, however. They were travelling from Chicago to Los Angeles, which had Caitrin on edge.

"Our plane for Japan isn't taking off until the two days from now," Watari told her.

Caitrin looked down at her boarding pass and carry-ons, desperate for a lack of eye contact.

"If you want, I could arrange for a meeting," he said.

Looking up sharply, Caitrin stared him down, her shoulders tense. There was a part of her that wanted to thank him, a part so desperate for a return to the sweet solace that the man in Los Angeles had once afforded her. A somewhat larger part of her, however, wanted nothing more than to sharply decline his offer, to scoff and shrug as if it didn't matter either way.

But Watari knew her too well for her to possibly hide either of these sides.

"How does a lunchtime meeting sound?"

* * *

The plane ride to L.A. was a silent one. Caitrin was so distracted that she couldn't do more than watch the world passing by beneath her out of the window, let alone continue reading L's files. The eminent meeting between her and B terrified and excited her. She didn't know why, as she was perfectly aware that they would be meeting with a thick pane of protective metal, glass, and plastic between them. She figured he would yell at her, that his insanity would burst through his cool exterior and his ferocity would surround her fully.

She felt that she would not escape, despite the fact that she was the free one.

Still, she hoped that he would be calm, tranquillized if need be, and that they could speak openly. She wanted so badly a chance to finally say goodbye and to explain to him her feelings, which she felt he'd never understood.

Thus, the next day, Caitrin woke bright and early in her hotel. She left Watari without a word in favor of wandered the familiar streets of downtown L.A. She was glad of the positive changes to the neighborhood, but it did little to still her heart or calm her mind. War raged within her and she struggled to organize her thoughts.

What would she say to him?

Would they be face-to-face?

Should she apologize?

The last question hit her hard in the chest, but she was confused. What did she need to apologize for? Logically speaking, she'd done nothing wrong, but still she felt as though her betrayal ran blood deep. She feared he would try to break her, to knock her off of her already fragile footing into a world of self-loathing and deterioration, the likes of which she hadn't been through since she first arrived in Chicago.

She told Watari nothing of this when she arrived back at their split hotel room. He seemed to have an idea of her anxieties, however, and quickly laid out their plan for the day. He explained to her that he wouldn't be present during her conversation with the criminal, that he wouldn't see B at all. Apparently, Watari, though he loved all of his children, felt it was best for him to cut ties with B, as he was beyond help. However, he would be in the guests' room of the prison, while B and Caitrin would be in a watched room, with a guard present and B would be weighed down with chains.

Caitrin was relieved by the precautions, but felt they would all serve to worsen B's mood. Despite this, she allowed the plan to remain unaltered and before she knew it, noontime had rolled around. Watari hailed a taxi for them while Caitrin stood beside him, shivering with anticipation and nervousness. The ride to the prison was as silent as the plane ride, the air so tense not even the taxi driver could stomach small talk, and impatiently requested his money upon reaching their destination.

The high-security prison was surrounded by towering walls flanked periodically by even taller guard posts, which were stationed with militarized officers. The brick walls were lined with barbed wire several lines thick; the door in and out was electrified to prevent unwarranted comings and goings.

"They should add a moat," Caitrin joked uneasily.

Watari smiled, resting a hand on her shoulder in reassurance.

Their trip through security was slow and tedious. Watari proved to be quite the surprise, as the stationed guards obviously weren't expecting such a kindly old man to pull a fully-loaded gun from beneath his jacket before walking through the metal detectors. Caitrin, too, had to remove not only her jewelry and cell phone, but a small, razor-sharp blade (Wammy's House required all students to go through combat training, as prodigies were often the target of attackers. Handheld blades were Caitrin's favorite, as guns were more difficult to master and she was not an extremely patient person) which she had had strapped to her leg beneath her jeans.

"You'll, uh, you'll have these returned to you before you leave," one of the door's guards said, holding the plastic bucket with their materials and shooting them looks of surprise.

"That would be wonderful," Watari said politely. "Thank you."

Caitrin echoed his thanks and the pair walked through a makeshift, outdoor hallway (walled by brick, wire, and fencing) through one of the courtyards. Prisoners watched keenly as Caitrin moved by. Paying no mind to Watari, they shouted and catcalled, jeering at Caitrin and moving as close to the hallways as possible.

"Sit on my face!" one called, his face twisted in a dirty grin. A group of middle-aged men around him laughed.

"Why, is your nose bigger than your dick?" she replied quickly.

Their laughter turned to growls quickly, though some prisoners seemed to take Caitrin's side, laughing and pointing at the shamed prisoner. Caitrin thought Watari was going to have a stroke at her words, clearing his throat, his face red.

"What?" she asked, smiling at him mischievously.

"Nothing," he said quickly, coughing slightly. "That was a very… innovative response."

Caitrin chuckled, wrapping her hand around his elbow, her pace quickening as they reached the door to the guests' quarters. She left her improved mood at the door of the facility, her previous gloom overwhelming her as they made their way to the receptionist and signed in.

"I don't know if I can do this," she admitted, sitting next to Watari and waiting.

"You'll be fine," he said supportively, "he can't hurt you."

"I'm not worried about that," she said.

"Oh?" he asked. "What is it then?"

Caitrin sighed, looking around the grey room at the other visitors. Their sullen faces did nothing to improve her mood as she slumped into the depths of her chair.

"He hates me," she said finally, twiddling her thumbs.

"Well…," Watari began, though he didn't how to respond.

Caitrin chuckled bitterly, looking over at him. "I worked behind his back to get him caught and now I'm going to the other side of the planet to help his arch-nemesis. He. Hates. Me."

Watari nodded regretfully. Before he could say his piece, however, the receptionist called out, "Katherine Jones!"

Grumbling, Caitrin stood and, sending Watari one last look, walked to the meeting room.

The room itself was just as colorless and gloomy as the previous one, but the man inside looked perfectly chipper, which frightened Caitrin all the more. A metallic table and chairs, all of which were bolted to the floor, were the only pieces of furniture. B was restrained in ankle and wrist cuffs, the ends of which were held in the tight grip of a sour-looking guard standing in the corner of the room. Caitrin spotted a camera in each little crevice the room had. Swallowing hard, Caitrin sat in the chair adjacent from B, who watched her with dull yet sadistic red eyes, his mouth twisting maliciously so as to make his burns and scar tissue wrinkle and become all the more apparent.

"Hello," he said, his voice sickly, the sound reminding Caitrin acutely of nails scraping down a chalkboard.

"Hello, Beyond," she responded in a clipped tone.

"_Katherine_," he mocked, titling his head to the side.

Caitrin glanced at the guard nervously, before straightening her back and steeling her nerves.

"I just came to say goodbye," she said quickly, her hands balling into fists beneath the table.

"Goodbye?" he asked, chuckling. "You've only just said hello!"

"I meant permanently," she clarified, avoiding his shadowed gaze.

"Ah," he said slowly, twitching ceaselessly.

Letting out a deep breath, Caitrin finally met him eye for eye. "I won't be visiting again. I've been thinking about this for four years and I've decided that you're nothing more than a criminal and I…"

He cut her off with a high-pitched, crazed laugh.

"'Nothing more than a criminal,' that's adorable. If I recall correctly, you did _help_ me with those crimes you're on about."

"I was coerced into helping you," she said quietly, quoting strings of half-truths from when they were in court.

B's laughter faded, a vicious smile warping his already disfigured face. His greasy patches of hair fell over his eyes, though they seemed to glow through the strands, piercing Caitrin.

"You love me," he said smugly, his shackled hands moving toward her.

Immediately, Caitrin stood from her chair and backed away. B laughed at her fear, moving his hands back to rest atop his knees, which were pressed to his thin chest.

"You're sick," she said, looking down at her feet.

"Maybe," he admitted, shrugging.

"You have ten more minutes, Miss," the guard from the corner said, seeming uninterested in their conversation.

Caitrin nodded at him and sat back down slowly, rolling her shoulders as though preparing for a physical fight.

"I'm going to Japan," she said, to which B cocked his head, confused.

"Why?" he asked. When Caitrin asked him how he didn't know anything, he told her, "They don't allow me to watch television or read newspapers; I haven't heard anything of the outside world for four years."

"Oh," she said, "well, um… there's a serial killer there who's found a way to kill on a global scale."

"Terrorism isn't a new concept," he said doubtfully.

"Not terrorism," she said, shaking her head. "He seems to have some sort of mythological or God-like power – he kills through heart attack."

B squinted, looking thoroughly interested.

"He's mostly targeted criminals, from other murderers to petty thieves, so we believe he's got some sort of God complex. In any case, I'm to help in any way I can."

"'We'," he said slowly, pulling his hand up to bite his fingernails. "…L is there."

Caitrin nodded, saying nothing. B smiled, biting down on his finger hard enough to break the skin, though he didn't seem to notice the tiny beads of blood.

"You are strange, C," he said, "a strange, crazy, genius."

"How's that?" she asked, folding her arms.

He looked up at her, his smile disappearing to reveal a completely blank mask.

"You, arguably the most brilliant woman of our generation, befriend two of the most brilliant men on our generation, then you pin the two, who are already rivals, against each other. Time and time again, you find a way to use us to make your resume look all the more impressive." Caitrin tried to cut him off, looking offended. But still he continued, "First, you betray me and take partial credit as one of those who solved the famed _Los Angeles BB Murder Cases_, then you team up with L once more to work on this Japanese case…. And who knows? Maybe you'll betray L and team up with this killer. You seem to like making dramatic changes in loyalties."

Caitrin stared at him, trembling. Her eyes felt hot and wet, though she refused to let any tears fall.

"You're an asshole," she said, her voice shaking. "You're an asshole and you know nothing about me. First of all, I'd never work with a killer-"

"Nothing stopped you last time," he pointed out.

Caitrin scoffed, taking several deep breaths to try and calm down. Shaking her head and standing up, she shot him a look of finality, and left the room. The door closed with a resounding slam, B watching her the whole time.

"Goodbye," he said quietly, long after the door had closed, separating them for the last time.

* * *

immortal chord: i hope you enjoyed this chapter!

I really hope I get better at efficiently updating, but in any case, I hope you all enjoyed reading this and look forward to chapter three!


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